Next Door to Murder (31 page)

The keys would have been handed back to the letting agents. Was it, she wondered, remotely possible that the Franks had left one for emergencies under a stone somewhere? It wasn't recommended practice, but a lot of people did it, and such a key could have been overlooked.

Gus looked up at her, sensing her indecision.

‘Stay here,' she told him, ‘I shan't be long.'

She took a tin of dog food from the cupboard, not knowing whether or not it would appeal, but guessing if the cat was hungry enough, it would eat anything. It was only as she ran up the basement stairs that she considered Gus's reaction, should she return with the cat. But perhaps, if she fed and watered it before letting it out, it could fend for itself. It had been a stray before the Franks adopted it.

She slipped the front door key into her pocket and let herself out of the house, pulling the door shut behind her. The street was deserted – which, for the last week or so, was a state she'd been longing to have restored. Now, she'd have given a lot to see a passer-by, some sign of life.

She shook herself; she was being neurotic. She turned into the next gateway and walked up the path, trying not to think of the last time she'd been there. Without much hope, she tried the door handle, and was not surprised when it resisted her pressure. Helplessly, she looked about her. The tired-looking plant was still in its stone pot at the bottom of the steps. Rona tried to lift it, but it proved too heavy; nor, when she felt around in the soil, did her fingers encounter anything unexpected.

Think! she commanded herself. If you wanted to hide a key, where would you put it? She turned to the narrow flowerbed running down the left-hand side of the path. The contract gardeners had continued their visits during the Franks' occupancy; since the garden could only be accessed through the house, might a key have been left for them? Rona walked slowly along the length of the bed, pausing now and again to peer under shrubs and lift aside leaves. And then, half-hidden in the undergrowth, she saw a little stone figure of a hedgehog. With a surge of hope she lifted it, and sighed in relief. Nestling underneath it was a shining key.

She picked it up, dusted off the soil, and replaced the figure. Then, before her resolve could falter, she went up the steps, put the key in the lock, and opened the door.

It was the silence she noticed first, heavy and oppressive. She stood listening, unsure for what. Again, she shook herself. She'd feed the cat and leave as soon as possible. What name had Louise given it? Something to do with its colour . . . Amber! That was it!

‘Amber!' she called, wishing she'd brought some biscuits to rattle and catch its attention. ‘Dinner, Amber!' Did it know the word? At any rate, there was no response. Perhaps it had been shut in the room?

Cautiously, unwillingly, Rona went up the stairs. Patches of carpet – presumably where the splashes of blood were – had been cut away, showing the bare boards underneath, and the banisters were covered in a light, greyish dust: fingerprint powder, she thought, and was careful not to touch it.

‘Amber!' she called again, her voice echoing in the listening house. ‘Where are you? I've got some dinner for you!'

Louise's door was, in fact, ajar. Rona pushed it open, noticing that, here again, the patch of carpet bearing the stain had been cut away, and that all the surfaces were coated in powder. There was no sign of the cat.

It could be anywhere, she thought in frustration. She went to the window and looked down at her own garden from this unfamiliar angle. The watering can was on the flagstones where she'd left it, and Gus lay stretched out beside it. On impulse, she tapped on the glass, and when he looked up, ears cocked, she waved to him. Had he seen her? Whether or not, the sooner she got back to him, the better. Her garden seemed suddenly a most desirable place to be.

It was as she was turning from the window that there was a sound behind her – a soft click – and she spun round to see Louise leaning against the closed door, smiling at her. But this was a different Louise – a Louise with cropped hair, the trademark fringe combed back from her forehead, and an odd, feverish glint in her eyes.

Rona's heart seemed to stop as she frantically reassessed her position. ‘Louise!' she stuttered.

‘Karen, actually.'

God, her memory had come back! How exactly would that affect things?

‘You found the spare key; well done,' Karen continued. ‘I'm so glad you've come, Rona; I was hoping to see you.'

Rona moistened her lips. ‘I've been worried about you. Where have you been?'

‘At the commercial hotel, in Windsor Way. It's amazing how unobservant people are. But once the news about Canada broke, it seemed wiser to leave, and this house was the one place no one would think of looking for me. So, as soon as the police moved out, I moved back in.'

Rona tried to think of a safe response. ‘I was looking for Amber,' she said, holding up the tin of dog food. ‘I saw her at the window.'

Karen nodded. ‘She slipped in past me when I came back; nearly gave me a heart attack, brushing against me in the dark. She must have been hunting, because although she was hungry, she wasn't starving. Now, she's annoyed with me because I won't let her out. But if anyone saw her asking to come in . . .'

As she'd been speaking, Karen had casually turned the key in the lock and slipped it into her pocket. She moved into the room and sat on the dressing stool.

Rona watched her with alarm. What was she planning?

Trying to keep her voice light, she asked, ‘When did your memory come back?'

‘Last Friday, when Harry called. They didn't let him in, but I was on the stairs, and I heard him. He sounded just like David, and when he asked for Karen, everything snapped into place. Or almost everything. Odd bits keep coming back.'

She looked up at Rona, still standing at the window.

‘You've read the papers, and since it was through you that Harry traced us, no doubt you've spoken to him. God knows what he said – he never liked me. So now, I'd like you to hear my side.'

‘Of course.' What else could she say? Oh God, Max wouldn't be home for hours yet. Even then, how would he know where she was? It wouldn't occur to him that she'd voluntarily come back to this house.

‘You'd be more comfortable if you sat down.' Karen nodded towards the stripped bed, with its old, stained mattress, but Rona was reluctant to leave the window. Illogically, as long as she was visible from her own garden, she felt reasonably safe. She half turned to glance down again, but Karen moved swiftly. Rona shied away, but all she did was draw the curtains.

‘That's better,' she said calmly. ‘Now, sit down.'

There was no option but to obey, and in the green light coming through the curtains, Rona seated herself on the edge of the bed while Karen launched into her narrative.

‘I'd loved David since I was sixteen,' she began. ‘There was never anyone else. When we were both at uni, he phoned every evening and came up whenever he could, and as soon as we graduated, we got engaged. We weren't planning to marry for a year or two, but not long after, David was offered this great job – in Toronto, of all places. It was too good to turn down, so we brought the wedding forward and went out together.'

She was quiet for a moment, staring back into a past Rona couldn't see. ‘And we were so happy,' she said softly, ‘so much in love. I found myself a job – we'd both read sciences – and for several years everything was wonderful. During that time, Father retired. They'd been out to see us a couple of times, and fallen for Canada. There was nothing to keep them in the UK – I was their only child – so they decided to retire out there, and because they had family in the country and were financially sound, they were accepted.'

She was silent for a longer space. ‘Then I discovered I was pregnant, and soon after, we heard from David's parents that Harry was getting married, and we were invited to the wedding. But Harry'd always been jealous of David, and there'd been a terrific row before our own wedding, resulting in his not coming. I knew David was unhappy about it; he admitted writing to Harry, trying to patch things up, but hadn't had a reply. He thought if they could meet face to face, all would be well, and when I told him I wasn't able to fly, he suggested going alone. I wasn't having that, though. I wouldn't have put it past Harry to try to turn him against me.'

‘Harry told me he
did
eventually write,' Rona ventured.

‘Yes, yes, he did. You'd have thought David had won the lottery when he got that letter. He was full of plans for Harry and Susie to come over, but that was just before—'

She bit her lip.

‘What happened, Karen?'

‘Timmy was what happened. It was a difficult birth – long-drawn-out and very painful, and there were complications, which didn't help. And when I finally went home, I was suffering from post-natal depression, and couldn't even begin to cope. I loved my baby – of course I did – but he wouldn't stop crying. Night after night, day after day, till I thought I'd go mad. Mother tried to help, but she couldn't do much. I wasn't getting any sleep, and nor was David. We were living on our nerves.'

Tears filled her eyes. ‘Just talking about Timmy upsets me. Now everything's come back, I'm grieving for him all over again.'

Rona, thinking of Harry Swann and his dying mother, steeled herself. ‘So why did you kill him?' she asked softly.

Karen put her hands to her head, her face tortured and tears streaming down her face. ‘
Because he wouldn't stop crying!
'

Rona stared at her. Unbelievably, Karen had taken the bait, and in doing so, proved Harry right; it
hadn't
been David who killed the baby. But she was continuing:

‘He cried all day and all night, unless I was actually nursing him. If I tried to put him in his cot, he'd start screaming, going so red in the face that I was frightened, and had to pick him up again. And that was the state I was in, when I bumped into Sally Benson at the pharmacy.'

She looked at Rona. ‘Sally's one's of those people who likes to tell you unpleasant things, because she “thinks you ought to know”. And, to cut a long story short, what she thought I should know was that David had been having an affair with a girl in his office for the last few months. All the time, in fact, that I'd been carrying his child.'

Impatiently, she brushed her tears away. ‘That was when it all blew up. I taxed David with it the minute he got home, and I could tell by his face it was true. Oh, he tried to bluster, say there'd been nothing in it, but I didn't believe him. It had been going on for nine months, for God's sake.

‘When we went to bed that night, I insisted he sleep in the guest room. But no sooner had I dropped off than Timmy started again, and I just – disintegrated. I think now that I was blaming him for David going astray – if I'd not been pregnant, it wouldn't have happened. That kind of thing. But all I knew at the time was that I
had
to quieten him, so I could get some sleep.

‘I scooped him up, and started shaking him, over and over. I never even noticed he'd gone limp. Then David came rushing in, yelling, “Karen! What are you doing?” and snatched the baby from me. I watched him lay Timmy on the changing trolley and begin trying to revive him, but I could see he was dead. That's when I started screaming. David shouted at me to phone for an ambulance, but I knew he'd tell them what I'd done. By that stage, I was almost out of my mind; the shock of Timmy's death, David's betrayal, the prospect of prison, all swept over me in a suffocating wave. I picked up the nearest thing and hit him with it. He went down like a stone.'

She paused, added calmly, ‘I told everyone he'd killed the baby, and that was why I hit him. It was a way to get back at him, for the affair.'

Rona's own eyes were wet. It seemed, despite the criticism, that the Canadian judgement had been a merciful one.

‘If you saw the papers,' Karen said dully, ‘you'll know what happened next. I received a suspended sentence subject to medical treatment, and was allowed “home”. But there was no way I could go back to that house, even temporarily. So we sold it, contents and all apart from a few personal possessions, and I moved in with my parents.

‘It didn't end there, of course. There was graffiti on the wall, anonymous letters, phone calls in the night. And to cap it all, one night someone set fire to the house. That was the final straw. A couple of days later I took the car, which had somehow escaped damage, drove until I was almost out of petrol, then put my foot down and aimed for a brick wall. God knows why I wasn't killed, but they managed to drag me back to life. Or half-life, without any memory.'

‘And your parents?'

‘Moved into temporary accommodation near the hospital, and made arrangements to fly back here as soon as I was well enough. That was when they decided to call me Louise – my grandmother's name – and bury the notorious Karen Swann for ever. They also suggested I grow my hair, but they said it was to hide the scars, not to change my appearance.'

‘They did their best for you, then.'

Karen stopped crying as suddenly as she'd started, and her face changed, became hard and cold.

‘They wanted to keep me dependent on them,' she said.

‘Surely not? I mean, they were elderly; why would they want that? They'd be trying to save you the pain of remembering, having to go through what you're reliving now.'

‘They lied to me,' Karen said implacably. ‘They invented a complete life for me, with a fictitious husband and a divorce, to stop me finding out the truth.'

‘But with the best of intentions. They—'

‘No. How could they expect me to recover, if they fed me all those lies? They preferred me with half a brain, believing what they wanted me to believe.'